


Anger

by CrumblingAsh



Series: Fragile Things [7]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Post-Avengers (2012), Pre-Slash, Steve comes to the Tower, poor steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-18
Updated: 2014-01-18
Packaged: 2018-01-09 03:59:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1141157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrumblingAsh/pseuds/CrumblingAsh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>They’re good people, he thinks as Natasha releases the brake – watches as the vehicle disappears into the night as it was intended. Good character, familiar. That, at least, he can still do. Choose the right people. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anger

* * *

 

From ground level of the city, you can’t see the back entrance to the tower, dipping under the ground like a slide of gravy over freshly mashed potatoes, buttered and ready for eating – the cement of the drive perfectly smooth under the weight of the rubber tires of the vehicle careening down its hidden path.

Natasha says nothing as she pulls the non-descript black SUV to a stop, the red of her hair glinting under the lights beaming from the garage they’ve just entered. She doesn’t put the car in park, the engine rumbling anxiously under the hood, held in place only by the weight of her foot and the agreement she had given him to take him wherever he wanted to go, no questions asked and no person told. Steve is grateful for it.

There is a lot he should be grateful for these days, but he’s not.

“Thanks,” he says lowly; means it as he grips the gleaming silver handle of the door. She casts him an unreadable look then, because she’s Natasha, only the hesitant set of her shoulders giving away the question she wants to ask. “I’m sure,” he adds firmly, because she won’t. She nods, short and maybe misunderstanding, but she doesn’t stop him as he swings the door open, sliding from the uncomfortable leather seat and to the ground below, swinging the strap of his duffle over his shoulder. Somewhere, Hawkeye – _Clint_ – is turning his bike this way and that, losing the trail of shadowy agents that he had trained before he brings it to the Tower, too.

They’re good people, he thinks as Natasha releases the brake – watches as the vehicle disappears into the night as it was intended. Good character, familiar. That, at least, he can still do. Choose the right people.

“You’re late, Rogers.” Echoes through the garage like a cry in a ravine.

Startled, he turns to see Tony Stark leaning against the door that must lead inside. He’s thinner than Steve remembers, clothed in a gray t-shirt with a symbol he doesn’t recognize that makes him appear … different. Covered in grease and dirt and the wear of the day, he doesn’t look as much like Howard as before, and it’s easier to look at him.

Steve’s not lost enough to not feel disgusted with himself for that.

“I didn’t exactly agree on a time,” he reminds, shaking his head. “But technically, it is “tonight”.”

“Yeah, like, three days later.”

“I was in Wyoming.”

“Who the fuck goes to _Wyoming_?”

Part of Steve – a very small part – wants to crack on Stark for his language, his haughty privileged attitude that had set him off like a bomb on the helicarrier. But the engineer is smirking at him, an awkward lip-twitching smirk Steve himself had mastered on his first round of tours, hands fidgeting against each other. The burning anger from their first meeting is nonexistent, and for the first time since waking up, he feels tired.

His shoulders sag, the strap of the bag sinking into the meat like a bullet, and Tony takes a cautious step forward, snatching the bag without warning and turning back.

“Whatever,” he dismisses over his shoulder. “It gave me time to set up your room.” He ignores Steve’s spluttering.  
  
But he holds open the door.


End file.
